


Take a shot, baby, you're my chaser

by linzackles



Series: That's it? That's it. [5]
Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, because I wasn't around after 204 and I feel robbed, pre 205
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-01-27 13:04:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21392635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linzackles/pseuds/linzackles
Summary: In vino veritas but instead of truth, it’s Brio sex.
Relationships: Beth Boland/Rio
Series: That's it? That's it. [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1426429
Comments: 80
Kudos: 341





	1. Chapter 1

**You home?**

Beth pulls a hand through her eyes.

She'd been busy locking up and switching off lights before being called to her phone, still on the coffee table where she'd left it as she'd had glass after glass of wine with the girls.

Her vision is a bit blurry, but after several retries it becomes clear that she'd read the message right the first time, as well as who it's from.

She really doesn't feel like talking business now, but she replies anyway.

**Yes**

His response arrives lightning quick.

**Alone?**

Something electric strikes deep down and begins to pool.

She swallows.

**Yes**

A second later her phone rings and, with a breath, she answers.

“Hello?”

“Why you sayin that like you don't know who it is?”

“It's the polite way to answer a phone,” she points out.

There's a short silence, like he's rolling his eyes, but he doesn't say anything.

Till he does.

“Can I come over?”

She blinks; hardly breathes.

“Why?”

“You know why.”

Now she really isn't breathing.

She takes a step back, then another, till she feels the solidity of a wall behind her.

It's cool through her thin blouse and it helps; reminds her to pull air into her lungs.

“Where are you?”

“Out with the boys,” he answers easily.

She's very warm, she realises, and not just from the wine.

“How soon can you get here?”

“Soon.”

Beth swallows then runs her tongue over her lips, trying to stop herself.

It's useless.

“You have ten minutes.”

* * *

She waits at the front door, blinking rapidly as she tries to regain sobriety.

Her head's spinning a little and there's a weird antagonism in her temperature regulation as her body tries to cool but her mind keeps her veins running hot.

Since the bathroom, there'd been a few more times. At the dealership, in her car, in his car. Once in a dimly lit warehouse before a meet.

They never talk about it after, Rio seemingly having realised that it tends to make her clam up.

She hopes he knows it's not because of him. Well, not directly, anyway.

It's because it makes her have to confront her own actions, what they mean, and she'd rather not think about it.

Still – she wishes she'd drank less. She can't seem to get a handle on herself, only standing straight because the wall is holding her up.

She's thinking of trying to make it to the kitchen for some water when suddenly there's commotion outside. She'd been too caught up in her own thoughts to hear it approach, but the blaring music nearing her driveway becomes too deafening to miss.

There's slamming of doors, laughing and hollering, and she rips open her front door with a frown.

Rio had been doubled over laughing, but he immediately catches sight of her and his face changes in a way she's had too many drinks to interpret.

His eyes linger for a second, tongue running over his lips, before he turns back to the car, filled to the brim with guys in dark getups.

“A’ight, get outta here.” 

The car starts immediately even as lewd wolf-whistling comes from the backseat, and Rio's grinning as he makes his way up the porch steps.

She purses her lips.

“My neighbours aren't gonna be happy about the noise.”

“’Pologies, ma. Had to run some interference; they was wantin to come in; have a drink.”

“What did you say?” she asks, closing the door behind him.

She feels slightly steadier on her feet now.

“That I didn't come here for no drink and there ain't no orgies in the ’burbs.”

It takes her a while to swim through the implication of this, blush, realise the insult hidden in there and be indignant, before she finally makes it to the kernel of truth hidden inside.

“They know about...?”

She doesn't finish, because to describe what they _know_ would mean knowing what they _are_ and even sober, Beth has no clue.

But he gets the message, eyeing her like she's being dense.

“You got me arrested but you still breathin – and you look like that. They gotta be pretty dense not to, right?”

Her breath stutters.

“…H-how is it that I look?”

He waves a hand in the shape of her body.

“Whatchu want, a mirror?”

And his tone is sarcastic, but his eyes are doing something completely different, like his normal mask doesn’t work quite as well when he’s been drinking. It’s like he already has her naked in his mind and it makes her back up again, press into the wall. He follows.

She can only watch as he boxes her in, presses his palms into the wall at her sides; leaning in close as his gaze wanders over her face.

“You been drinkin?”

She nods a little. “The girls were over.”

“Hmm,” he hums, gaze dropping to her cleavage.

She readjusts, pressing herself up a little so her lips are closer to his.

Two fingers go to her chin, almost rough as he pulls her even nearer.

“I want you real bad, momma.”

That same electricity darts down, her mouth drying.

Before she can think to put words together, he leans all the way in, breath hot against her earlobe.

“You want me?”

And it slips off her tongue so easily: “Yes.”

His hand goes down to the buttons on her blouse.

“Good.”

And then he’s kissing her neck, drawing moans from deep within her throat as she helps him with the buttons and then it’s open and he’s slipping both his hands behind her so that in seconds she’s naked from the waist up and he sucks a nipple into his mouth with a moan from his throat that makes her so goddamn wet.

Whatever steadiness she’d felt disappears; she falls forward onto him, head spinning, and he catches her with his hand between her legs, rubbing tentatively at first then with a pressure that has her keening; digging her nails into his neck.

She feels like she’s going to come just like that when suddenly he rocks away.

Licking his tongue over his lips, he looks at her.

“I wanna fuck you in your bed, mami.”

She sucks in a gasp, not least because it’s a request she never could’ve thought he’d make.

And the thought of him in her bed… god.

She remembers what Dean had said: _It’s disrespectful_.

“Ok.”

“Yeah?”

His tone is pleased in a way that sends a shiver down her spine.

“Yeah.”

He pulls all the way away with his lip caught between his teeth, and Beth steps forward gingerly.

Pleased the world doesn’t spin, she takes another and another and is nearly halfway to her bedroom when suddenly she’s being tugged and Rio’s kissing at the back of her neck, pressing her body into his. He’s hard and his breaths are heavy, a hand loping around to knead at her breast as he uses the other to lift her hair out of the way.

“God, Rio,” she moans, falling into it way too easily.

It’s when she begins grinding back against him that he growls and spins her around, kissing her hard. She whimpers beneath the force even as her hands go for the buttons on his shirt and they start moving towards the bedroom again, lips only parting when they need to get an item of clothing off.

They’re naked by the time they make it to the bedroom and Rio bangs the door shut with one hand as he presses the other to her, cupping then pressing two fingers deep inside.

“Oh,” she moans, struggling to field the variety of sensations as he pumps into her and pushes her back, free hand wrapped tightly around the back of her neck.

When she doesn’t think she can get any wetter, she pushes him away a little.

He lets her put some space between them so she can twist around, reaching for a big solid pillow before crawling onto it, palms and knees pressed into the bed. She wants him inside her like this more than she wants oxygen in her lungs.

Rio’s instantly behind her, kissing at her neck then down her spine; running his hands over her ass. She’s aching with want, whimpering, and he nips at skin before pulling away.

He parts her thighs a little more before pushing in, and her breath falls away as her back arcs. He feels like he’s hitting every part of her and she wants to cry out but it all gurgles in her throat when he starts thrusting, slow and shallow at first then harder, deeper.

His name falls from her tongue breathily as she clenches around him, already so damn close.

“Fuck, Elizabeth,” he mutters, and she can just barely hear it over the sound of their bodies.

She tries biting into her lip but it doesn’t help, a litany of ohs falling from her tongue as she loses control, body beginning to quiver as his thrusts become more and more erratic.

“Don’t stop,” she begs, and it sounds as desperate as she feels.

He goes quicker, harder, and it hits her all at once, shooting her so damn high as he growls; goes rigid.

She can barely think for several minutes, only coming back when he slips out of her and she feels empty, cold. She wants more of him.

Taking a deep breath, she straightens then gets wipes from her bedside table and they clean up.

When they’re done, she looks at him from under her lashes, not quite able to fully meet his gaze.

“We should probably stop this.”

Her tone is uncertain, like there’s a question mark, an ellipsis, at the end of it, and he looks at her thoughtfully.

“And why’s that?”

Because she’s in so goddamn deep and she only wants deeper.

“I’m married,” she finds herself saying.

“Yeah? Didn’t feel like it a minute ago.”

She swallows, ignoring how flaming hot her cheeks are.

“You don’t mind?”

“’Bout your hubby?”

It’s not exactly what she means, but the truth is too difficult to get out of her merlot mouth and she nods.

He sniffs in amusement.

“Mami, I walked right past that clown then fucked you in a bathroom with him right outside – think that says everythin about that.”

Her face only gets hotter as she remembers that night; as she contemplates what she has now to say.

“I don’t want to stop.”

“That’s good,” he says lowly, smile small but there. “’Cuz all night all I could think about was you.”

Beth bites her lip into her mouth, unsure what to do with this information.

“Don’t go,” she says eventually, and it comes out a little more vulnerable than she’d intended.

He cocks his head a little, watching her.

“Wasn’t plannin on it.”

It takes her a second to recover from this revelation before she slowly crawls nearer till she’s almost in his lap.

“That’s good,” she throws his words back at him. “Because there’s a lot more I want to do.”

His brow rises and she rocks forward to whisper into his ear, the liquor making her brave enough to string words together she never in her life would’ve thought she would – especially not to him.

By the time she’s done, just the way he’s looking at her has her heating up again.

“I get started, you gon' struggle gettin me to stop, momma.”

She shrugs with more nonchalance than she really has.

“It’ll only hurt tomorrow.”

He smirks.

“Oh, it’s gonna hurt all week, sweetheart.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This accidentally got very long. I hope you guys enjoy; thank you so much for your feedback :) 
> 
> P.S. I'm exhausted right now so please forgive any mistakes; will fix in the morning!

Rio likes sittin at the bar.

It's a good perch; gives you a good lookout. It's how he'd seen her, that night, givin him unconcealed horny eyes from across the joint.

But the boys want a booth so now he's at a fuckin booth, rolling his eyes whenever one of em whistles at a girl walkin by.

“Baby, I'll buy you drinks all night if you let me touch that,” Skull leers at one passin em now and Rio doubles over laughing as she gives Skull the filthiest look he's seen all night.

Once she's out of sight, Skull clutches his chest and pretends to plant face-first into the table, makin em all laugh.

“You more than deserved that,” Rio points out, grinning, and there are hollers of agreement.

After a minute, Demon looks at him.

“Boss, _you_ ain't makin no plays tonight?”

He shakes his head easily; waves a hand. “Naw, I'm good.”

He takes another sip of his double, feelin it spread through him the way the fourth normally does.

“You outta the game suddenly?” T-Bar wonders.

“Yea, gotta leave sum'n for y'all,” he quips, which distracts them all for a while as arguments get started about who's the better wingman and who could pick up a girl Rio couldn't.

He adds a laugh or an eyebrow raise here and there but he's gone, man, gone. In his mind he's somewhere else and it feels good there even if he don't quite know where it is.

But Skull reels him back in.

“Come on, boss. There really ain't no one in here you like the look of?”

Deciding to extend em a branch, Rio pops up a little to give the whole place a once-over for the first time in hours. His lip curls with amusement ’cuz even if this wasn't all just to satisfy em, he wouldn't be interested – she's taken five selfies in the two seconds he's been lookin; her dress is so tight she can't move; she looks a few minutes away from meetin the toilet bowl.

“N–”

_Naw_, that's what he'd been right about to say.

Then his eyes land on the last booth; the only one in the place he hadn't checked out yet.

And it's the second he sees her, he knows. Knows exactly where he'd gone in his mind. Knows where he's goin now.

Suddenly realising he's stuck in the middle of the damn booth, he looks at Skull.

“_Move_.”

* * *

Beth nurses the beer.

Annie had started them off on shots, so now she's trying to take it a little slower. Her face feels slightly numb, but she thinks she's smiling at something Ruby had said a second ago that she's already forgotten.

“I think we should do more tequila,” Annie suggests, grinning.

Beth's about to verbalise a hard pass when suddenly Annie's jaw drops and it takes Beth a second to follow her line of sight – gravity tugging on her chin like it has an anchor attached to it – and then her lips part.

“Evenin, ladies.”

It's Rio. But not just Rio. He's flanked by two of his guys and Beth genuinely isn't sure what to say.

“Hi,” Annie says.

But Rio's eyes are on Beth and they don't move, even when he clearly isn't speaking to her: “Y'all want some drinks?” Before anyone can answer: “Skull, get em some drinks.”

They watch ‘Skull’ lope off obediently, though he looks really displeased about being on drinks duty.

Ruby clears her throat, brow raised. “Who are your friends?”

“That's Skull and this here's J-Money.”

As he says this he sits uninvited, right beside her, and J-Money follows his lead, settling himself beside Annie.

“Um, hello... J-Money,” Annie greets awkwardly.

But Beth's really focused on Rio suddenly beside her. The first thing she notices is how good he smells, like fresh soap and clean cologne. She doesn't understand how the hell it's even possible to smell that good in a bar at nearly midnight.

The second thing she notices is how close he's pressed to her.

Maybe not visually, with his scant frame, but below the table his thigh is pressed to hers and once she realises it, she can't un-realise it, breaths coming out short and rapid.

She tries to focus, realises there's a conversation at hand.

J-Money's enquiring about why they're here.

“I quit my nightmare job,” Annie says. "We're celebrating."

That's when Beth makes a bad decision: she looks at him.

It's bad because he's already looking at her, and it's like he'd just been waiting for her to meet his gaze. Which – god. It's too familiar to her by now. The last scrap of animation he normally has disappears when he's had a few drinks too many, and he becomes this ultra-relaxed version of himself that sets her off kilter because there's no disguise over his eyes; no filter for his lust.

He's not saying a word but he's so goddamn loud: _I wanna fuck you, mami_, he's saying with his eyes (he'd whispered it in her ear once, right before a meeting) and it shoots deep down into her belly.

“You look good,” he says lowly, so low that for a second she isn't positive that he'd actually spoken.

Then the words absorb into her tequila brain and she realises he'd complimented her.

She blushes the colour of her wrap dress.

“Thank you.”

“Uh huh,” he says, not focused, eyes landing on her lips.

God, she can feel her heart in her throat.

But her attention is drawn away to something far more urgent: Rio's hand is on her knee, grazing then lightly brushing.

She wants to ask him what he's doing, but she can't – even if the girls knew (_know_ _what_? She still isn't sure), she wouldn't want to draw attention to whatever Rio's thinking.

But... god. It feels good. She likes his hands on her, even like this; innocent. They're large and strong and–

He pushes a little of her dress out of the way, creeping up her leg, and Beth swallows hard.

His brushing thumb is dedicated and she should push him away but she can't; can't. 

“Well, fuck me with a ladle – BETH!”

Her neck snaps up.

“J-Money was an accountant!” her sister exclaims, ridiculously excited by this. “Can you believe that?! Wait, is that how you choose your gang name??

Beth's about to reprimand her for this when she jolts – Rio's hand has landed on the inside of her thigh and it's making its way up, up, up. He’s leaned forward, hiding his arm as he sits his head against his other hand’s knuckles and pretends he’s a part of the conversation.

A pretence she can’t join in on because her eyelids are already heavy and now they fall closed, lips parting as his fingers do.

At first they just brush then caress but before long, one's pressed against her panties and she wants to scream.

She jumps, eyes snapping open, when drinks land on the table, clanking loudly.

It's like Skull had gotten two of everything – there's sparkling wine, beer, shots, whiskey; way more than they could all drink.

He looks to Rio for approval and he barely acknowledges him, just nodding with a lukewarm "Cool", which is when Skull seems to realise that nobody's about to make room for him.

He heads back to whatever table they'd come from and Rio looks at her.

“You want sum'n?”

There's a smirk on his lips because he's still touching her – lightly, but it's there, thumb brushing teasingly just over her clit – and she wishes she could strangle him. Strangle him and pull him closer.

“Tequila,” she says, because now she needs it.

He uses his free hand to pass her the shot and his fingers linger on hers for a few seconds too long.

God, she needs the burn. She needs the tequila down her throat because it's the only thing hotter than her body and so she knocks it back just like that, no hesitation.

He holds her eyes with his, lip pulled under his teeth, and when the burn hits, she's not sure if it's the liquor.

Rio licks over his lips, gaze lingering on her for a moment longer before he goes for a shot too.

It's vodka, she thinks, and he does it all in one too but slowly, savouring.

She watches the way his lips curve around the glass; jut out in that way he has.

She wants to be on his mouth so bad.

He finishes – she watches his Adam's apple bob as he swallows – then sets the shot glass down and starts playing with it, light little finger tricks that begin to correspond with his fingers on her as the conversation continues unabated.

She's so wet now that he can feel it, he has to, and Beth's struggling not to press her legs closed.

“Think your phone's ringin,” he says suddenly, jolting her once more.

“What?” She’d been biting on her lip, trying not to moan, and it takes her a second to process this. “Oh.”

She goes for it, pulls it out of her bag, but it's not ringing; had never been.

And then somehow, even through the liquor, she understands.

Calmly, she answers.

“Hello?”

He snorts lightly from beside her, only loud enough for her to hear, but his hand stops its torture.

“Hi, sweetie, what's wrong?” she says, putting on a concerned voice and a finger into her ear, as if to hear better.

“Ok, I'll be right there.”

She fakes ending the call and the girls look at her with frowns.

“What's wrong?”

“Kenny isn't feeling so well, I should go.”

“Noooo,” Annie moans.

“Are you ok to get home?” Ruby asks in concern.

“Yea, I'll take her,” Rio says.

It comes out half as an offer; half as a statement.

No one's more surprised than her.

“Um.” She looks at him. “Are you sure?”

He doesn't reply, just removes his hand from her and begins getting up.

“C'mon.” 

She casts a glance around at the table, but they're already distracted by a new conversation, J-Money having poured some whiskey into the sparkling wine and dared Annie to drink it, and she clears her throat.

“Bye.”

“Hope Kenny feels better!” Ruby says.

Annie’s too busy drunk-arguing with J-Money to really acknowledge much else.

She wants to be concerned about leaving them here with his guys but then Rio has his hand on the small of her back and her feet carry her out. (All the way out, not to the bathroom like she’d expected.)

Her breaths are rapid again as she struggles not to trip over her own feet, feeling his gaze on her ass.

They make it out the door and the icy draught hits her a millisecond before Rio's lips do, burning in the curve of her neck as she moans aloud in surprise.

She tries to bat him off but it's honestly half-hearted, it feels too good; his lips hot and burning a familiar trail. So she falls into it, stumbles back into him a bit and it's when her body is curved against his, keening, that he finally forces himself to pry away, grabbing her by the wrist and dragging.

She yips a little at the pressure, the speed, but it turns her on too – his impatience and strength – even though she’s in stilettos and how fast they’re going is definitely a safety hazard.

They get to his car quickly but now her head is spinning, alcohol sloshing in her stomach, and she feels vaguely nauseous. Ok, a lot nauseous.

“I'm dizzy,” she admits as he stops them beside the glossy black car.

He's already pulled her close to him, so without really thinking she presses forward, laying her forehead against the collar of his coat.

She breathes in deep lungfuls of his clean scent as he stands completely still, solid but not stiff, and it scares her how quickly it calms her; how quickly the smell and feel of him fills her up and sits so solid that there’s no room for anything to spin.

That’s when his hand goes to her hair, the touch light as he brushes his fingers through the lengths of a few individual strands.

It’s ridiculously soothing and Beth stays settled even though the nausea has long since passed. All her life she’s wished she could frame moments and hang them up. This one right here – she wishes she could blow it up; place it like a Monet, on a huge wall with nothing else on it.

“Your hair smells like peaches,” he says quietly, suddenly.

And god, she doesn’t know why, but that makes her smile harder than anything else has all night.

She presses closer with the full weight of her body and, catching him by surprise, it makes him stumble back into the car.

She uses the moment of distraction to twist her head and, grabbing him by the lapels, she pulls him back and kisses his neck, working her way from the tip of the wings to his Adam’s apple and he moans, fingers sinking into her ass, when she licks over it.

She’s working her way up his jaw, alternating kissing and nipping, when he growls.

“We gon’ do this right here if you don’t stop that, Elizabeth.”

Biting away a mischievous grin, she pulls away just a little so she can press his coat off him, and she notes the burn in his eyes as he helps, gaze not leaving her face for an instant.

Then he rocks away to get out his keys and twists around to unlock the car, open the backdoor and toss his coat across the seat. He gets in and she follows, shutting the door after her then immediately going for his lips, hands in his neck and running over his side. He’s breathing heavily and she goes for the gun, getting it from his waistband and tossing it to the floor then going to undo his pants. Her hands fumble, laced with liquor, and she gets so frustrated with herself before blushing at how desperate she must seem – and, well, not unfairly so.

“You do it,” she huffs, pulling away and trying to hide her embarrassment behind her hair.

After a moment of unzipping and shuffling, he presses close; close like he’d been in the bar. Then he moves her hair out of the way, presses his lips to her ear.

“You know I want you on top o’ me, right?”

She loses her breath, looks at him, but he’s already moved on, undoing the flowing belt on her dress so that she’s very naked very quickly, and she shakes her head when he goes for her bra.

It’s not a good idea – the parking lot had been empty but they’re still in a very public place, but he’s stubborn and the way he kisses over her chest convinces her. She takes it off, along with the dress and after he’s drawn his tongue around both her nipples, he puts the sleeves back on her then kisses her on the mouth fully, hard, before settling on his back across the seats. And now she understands – he’s hidden most of her chest so she won’t be completely naked, but he’ll still have a good view.

She bites her lip into her mouth then readjusts, about to press over him, when suddenly he clicks his tongue.

“Take off your shoes, you gon’ stab me.”

Thinking of the way he’d tortured her inside, touching her, she glares.

“You'd deserve it.”

He laughs, throat open, and she watches before going to slip off her shoes.

When she’s done, there’s only one thing left to do and for whatever reason, she freezes. Maybe it’s the way he’s just there waiting for her, maybe it’s the look in his eyes, maybe it’s the Monet.

One of his brows ticks up and then suddenly he’s sitting up again, kissing her, one hand in her neck and the other kneading a breast as he kisses her tenderly at first then rougher, till he’s biting at her lips and she’s moaning, feeling like her every neuron is going to explode. Her tongue is in his mouth when he pulls her down with him and she feels him against her, huge and hard.

God, she wants him inside her, it’s all she can think about.

When she pulls away to catch her breath, Rio shoots her a very annoyed look.

“Drop your panties, c'mon.”

She can’t really argue, so she goes to pull it down and then he helps her get it all the way off – then her all the way onto him.

“Ohhh-hhh,” she moans, staying still, eyes falling closed.

It feels like she’d been waiting all night, all week, for this and now he’s inside her and nothing else matters.

She feels his thumb over her nipple as if from a distance – all she can think about is how full she is, how good he feels.

Then it begins to ebb and her eyes open. There’s a look in his that’s too much and she pushes forward to anchor her hands on his chest as both his hands go to her hips. Then she starts moving.

He moans loudly and she whimpers – she’s so goddamn wet, practically dripping, and she doesn’t think anything has ever felt as good as this.

She does a slow figure eight a few times before sitting up straight again and beginning to bounce, Rio’s hands moving to the backs of her thighs to help her as he fucks up into her.

“Nobody rides me the way you do, momma,” he breathes.

It hits her in the middle of her chest and somewhere else too, but she doesn’t think she can afford to think about it; presses her eyes closed instead.

There’s a prickly heat rising up inside her and it’s too soon, she doesn’t want it, but god she also knows how good it’s going to be to give in to it and she starts going faster, harder.

Rio’s groaning, fingers digging ten sharp bruises that she’ll have to use a mirror to look at tomorrow.

She’s so close; she just keeps going, the heat expanding inside her, drawing tighter.

And then all at once she’s gone, coming, drowning in an ocean of _god, yes_, as her body jerks and quivers.

She’s riding the aftershocks, eyes fluttering open, when she realises he’s still going. Watching him watch her, she shimmies so the dress falls from her shoulders, revealing her full chest, before dropping down, pressing out a hand to the car door to catch herself; hold her body just above his. Nearly immediately, with a curse, he comes apart below her and she watches, transfixed. She’s never been able to watch him like this before–

She realises but it’s too late and she darts down to kiss him, eyes pressed firmly closed.

Too late to stop from feeling what she does seeing him vulnerable like that.

Unravelled by her.

But she kisses him hard, trying to erase the feeling, and after a while they just burn themselves out, her burying herself into his neck to close her eyes for just a second.

It’s several minutes later when she wakes to him running a finger down her arm.

“Oh my god,” she says, pinking, scrambling to move away.

She must’ve been crushing him.

But he doesn’t let her go, holds her firmly to him, and she regards him with a questioning frown.

“Wasn’t done wit’ you,” he says very bossily.

She glares but lets him pull her back and she presses her nose against the wing of his tattoo as he caresses her ass, pinching lightly here and there.

She feels him breathe in the scent of her hair and now the blush is flaming hot, she can’t contain it, and it makes her unreasonably angry.

“I need to dress,” she demands.

He takes the hint from her tone, immediately relinquishing her, and she sits up to start pulling herself together, finding wet wipes in her handbag that they use to clean themselves up without speaking.

He’s done by the time she’s pulling on her shoes and she ignores his gaze; ignores the sigh thereafter.

“Get in the front,” he orders, then climbs out without waiting for a response.

He’s in the driver’s seat in a second and Beth hesitates. She doesn’t know what he’s thinking, but she really just wants to go home now; is already hailing an Uber in her mind.

But his tone had been uncompromising and technically he’s still her boss, so she climbs out then into the passenger seat.

But he doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t move; doesn’t look at her. For several minutes.

Eventually she sighs heavily.

“I need to go.”

Now he looks at her. “Yeah? Where?”

She stares back. “_Home_.”

“Said I was gonna take you, didn’t I?”

This steals whatever she’d been about to say from her tongue. She looks around like maybe the empty parking lot will somehow provide her with answers. Except _oh_, all the windows are completely steamed up and it starts a light dusting of red over her cheeks again.

She clears her throat.

“Well, you’re not doing that.”

“Waitin for my head to clear.”

Oh. She’d practically forgotten he’d been drinking too; forgotten he’s not always like this.

“How long is that gonna take?”

“As long as it takes,” he returns.

Sighing, she settles into her seat, but he lets down the window, frigid air blowing in as he settles his chin across his knuckles near it.

“What, you gotta get home to hubby?”

There’s something very scathing in his tone and she decides not to give him the satisfaction of getting her worked up about it.

“Thought you said you don’t care about that.”

“I don’t.”

“Ok,” she responds, irritated.

She swears he’s the only person in this world able to sober her up through sheer infuriation.

Another minute passes and she’s beginning to wonder how rude – on a scale of one to ten – it would be to just get an Uber and leave him here, when he speaks.

“You gon’ let me take you out sometime?”

Her head whips to look at him, but he’s still facing outward.

“Take me out?” she repeats dumbly. “Like… kill me?”

Now he turns to stare at her sardonically.

“Yeah, Elizabeth, when’s good for you? I’m puttin’ someone’s lights out on Monday at three, but I could do you after.”

Her mouth is dry and she swallows; licks her lips.

“Like _out_ out?”

Now he presses his head back into the seat, eyes shimmering like he’d expertly sorted through all the anxiety in her voice to find the kernel of excitement; intrigue. 

“Where you wanna go?”

Before she can stop it, her mouth starts saying words.

“There’s a new seafood place in Midtown, it looks really nice.”

By the time she’s done, he’s smiling a little.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she nods, a little breathless.

“You gonna eat this time?”

Remembering the time he’s referring to – when he’d offered her some of his meal and she’d rejected him – she rolls her eyes, and he chuckles.

“A’ight. Tomorrow night work for you?”

“Yes,” she says before she’s even thought about the kids or Dean or the girls.

He looks even more pleased.

Then, smirking: “You gon’ put out?”

She’s blushing before she can help it, and he bursts into laughter that reverberates around the car.

“I think you’re sober now,” she says stroppily when he’s finally done.

“Yea? How you know?”

“Because you’re not this annoying when you’re drunk,” she shoots, making him grin.

“Well then I’m sorry to inform ya that tomorrow night’s gonna be real annoying, sweetheart.”

That’s when it finally dawns: it’s a date. She’s going on a date with Rio.

How did that happen?

“Actually, I don’t think tomorrow night’s gonna work after all,” she says, voice paper-thin as she doesn’t meet his eyes.

She can’t read his eyes.

“Naw? You gotta clean the oven?”

“I…” She struggles to get the words out before pushing her hair behind her ears and forcing it. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Hmm.”

It gives nothing away and she starts to panic.

“Because we work together,” she adds helplessly.

He nods slowly before beginning to move, looking ready to start the car.

“Cool.”

It’s so similar to the way he’d spoken to Skull and the panic is worse now but different, morphed, and she rushes forward for the steering wheel to lay her hand on his.

“Rio.”

He looks from her hand to her but doesn’t say anything, just watches her.

She takes a breath then shrugs animatedly in a way that she hopes is endearing.

“…I’m hungry _now_.”

His eyes take her in, skipping over all her features as he seems to consider.

The moment seems to stretch forever as she holds her breath.

Then he licks over his lips.

“I know a place. ’S open late and does some real damn good tacos,” he says eventually. “But you gettin em; I got drinks.”

A grateful smile stutters onto her face and he smiles back. It’s another moment to be framed.

Then the car starts and she finally thinks to huff.

“Technically Skull bought the drinks.”

“Who you think pays him, huh?”

“But technically you pay me too…”

She giggles as he shoots her a glare, then she settles in her seat as they get going. Every now and then her gaze wanders over to him, she can’t help it; she doesn’t want to help it.

Sometimes he’s already looking at her; sometimes she watches the night lights dance over his smooth skin and sharp cheekbones.

Something inside her stirs, nipples pebbling as her eyes take in his dark pink lips.

She clears her throat.

“Does the taco place serve tequila?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I really wasn't planning on adding more to this, simply because I didn't have any more in mind for it. But then one day I was hit with the sudden thought of 'What if they were drunk AND MAD at each other??' and this happened. It also got much longer than initially planned, lol. So thank you for letting me know you were interested in a third part because otherwise I may just have quashed that random idea :)

He can feel her eyes on him now.

He don't _know_ she's here, but he knows, he can feel it. Don't know when that happened, neither.

Whatever. He's pissed at her. She can keep lookin, he ain't givin her nothin.

Instead Rio tunes back into the conversation the boys are havin around the booth – T-Bar’s complaining about his girl.

“Hova had it _good_! I got 99 problems and a bitch is like 1 through 80.”

Everyone laughs. He doesn't.

He feels Demon tense up beside him, which only happens when Rio's in a shitty mood – gettin himself ready for an order, ’cuz usually someone’s about to die.

Rio's about to tell him to relax, it ain’t like that, when the waitress comes up.

“Another one for you,” she smiles at him.

It's a shot.

“From the blonde at the bar.”

He thanks her as she sets it down in front of him but he still don't look up. Won't give her that. Doesn't wanna drink her damn shot neither.

With a sigh he eyes the group of drinks in the middle of the table that had gathered as girls had sent em over. The boys are goin light tonight – they still gotta work – and he just ain't in the mood. They been here for hours and he’s only on his third beer, which stands mostly untouched in front of him.

Then he looks at the shot Elizabeth had sent over. Looks like vodka.

And for whatever stupid fuckin reason, he can't put it with the rest. So he knocks it back and it's the good shit, like maybe she knows what he likes.

He still don't meet her gaze.

Instead he looks at Demon.

“Imma go take a leak.”

The guys' bathroom is nearly identical to the ladies' and it makes him blink back a memory that still manages to stick.

She never fuckin goes anywhere in his mind, no matter what he tries to scrub her away with. Alcohol especially.

He washes his hands and sees her lookin at him in the mirror, eyes blown and fearful. Curious. Excited.

His own mind blank ’cuz he wouldn't let himself believe he was really livin that moment. It couldn't be real.

And then she'd locked the door and it'd become the realest damn moment he'd ever lived.

He tosses the hand towel – remembers the sound the dispenser had made as she let out a sound of her own from the back of her throat – then pushes open the door, and there she is for real.

He ain't surprised, not really, but he kinda hadn't thought she'd have the balls neither.

Still, he don't let it show; don't even really acknowledge her.

She turns – head slow with liquor – to look at him, her back pressed against the wall between the two bathrooms.

“Hi.”

Now he looks; lets his body turn to her. Ain't like he can outright ignore her, he don’t got that in him. Once upon a time, maybe, but not no more.

“Hey.”

He lets his eyes take her in. She's in a black-and-gold blouse that's kinda nice, he likes it. Dark jeans. Mom bag over her shoulder.

“Um.” She flushes. Pulls her bag closer. “I just wanted to say bye.”

He rolls his shoulders; smirks a lil in that way that ain't nice.

“Sounded like hi.”

Her face falls a bit and there's a strange look in her eyes before she looks down, like she don't know how to keep goin no more. And he knows he ain't easy to deal with but normally she's better at it.

“Ok.”

And like that she turns on her heel and he watches as she near-stumbles then rights herself on those damn stiletto boots of hers then keeps goin. Fuck, how much has she had to drink?

“Elizabeth.” He sighs, hates himself. “You need a ride?”

* * *

The ride over is silent.

He thinks of puttin on some tunes but he ain’t in the mood for that neither. Besides, he don’t really mind awkward silences – uses em to his advantage usually.

But this one ain’t awkward, more like dead. At one point he thinks she may actually be out cold.

But when he sneaks a glance, her eyes are open, starin out her window, and he nearly forgets to stop looking.

She’s goddamn beautiful and it makes him furious with her all over again. Why’s she always gotta make shit so damn hard?

He pulls up; parks. He feels her turn to face him and lets her stare for a moment, like he don’t know she’s doin it, before meetin her eyes.

Now it’s awkward.

She gotta invite him in, that’s how this goes, but it’s more than obvious he’s still pissed at her. He’s curious whether she’ll risk the rejection or try bringin up what’s between em.

He likes testing what she’s made of.

But eventually she looks down then starts jostlin like she’s gettin ready to leave.

“Thanks,” she says, low and soft.

Fuck.

He sighs. “You gon' invite me in?”

* * *

He stays a bunch of steps behind as she goes around switching on lights.

“Kids?”

“At my sister’s,” she replies, getting to the kitchen.

He passes by the sofa and there, too, is a memory. The one that’s between em now. Why he won’t ask about the other person who should be home right now.

She’d been on the sofa plottin shit on her board when he’d come in through the back. He’d been annoyed at first, that she’s putting it all down for anyone to find, but then she’d showed him that it’s all in code and he’d admitted it’s clever, actually. She’d looked at him, eyes all lit up, and he’d pulled her close and kissed her.

“Do you want something to drink?”

“Yeah, whatchu got?” he asks, still near the sofa.

Her eyes go over it then him. That had been the last time they’d seen each other.

Maybe she thinks he’s doin it on purpose – but nah, he just can’t move past it.

’Cuz that day had been different. It hadn’t led nowhere. They’d just been on the sofa makin out like high-schoolers.

Different.

’Cuz they’ve kissed bombed and they’ve fucked sober, but they ain’t never just kissed for the sake of kissing, and he’d been feelin it, too. She’s a good kisser and her lips are magnetic, full and soft.

And then just when it’d started gettin hot and heavy – her hands roaming first – there’d been a car in the driveway and she’d gone frantic. Told him to leave, nearly pushed him out the door. _My husband can’t see you here_, she’d commanded, and just rememberin it has him seething again.

Now she holds out the bourbon he’d asked for. Getting into the kitchen, he takes it, and she runs both her hands over her face as he sips.

“I think I had one too many,” she mutters mostly to herself.

He’s about to respond but then she leans down and starts pullin off her boots. Watching, he gulps down the rest of his drink then steps forward.

“Guess I gotta catch up.”

He gives himself a refill as she watches but that’s it, that’s all he’s giving her. It’s a damn sight more than he’d give anyone else. 

“Did you like the vodka?”

It’s a piss-poor attempt. He gives her that energy right back.

“Was a’ight,” he shrugs.

“I didn’t know how else to say…”

Now he looks at her.

“To say what?”

She shrugs and it’s small, helpless. He hates when she ain’t wearin shoes. Makes her look small and vulnerable, like he’s gotta protect her. He wants to, too, which is all kindsa wrong. But maybe that’s just it – when they get like this, somethin else takes over and he ain’t her boss no more; she ain’t just a professional hole in his goddamn head.

“That I’m sorry,” she finishes, lashes fluttering.

And yeah, it’s a start, but he ain’t letting her get away with just that.

“You couldn’ta called?”

“You weren’t _answering_ my calls,” she points out.

And yeah, that’s true. He’d been so damn done, man, so over it all.

“And honestly, I didn’t even know you were this mad. I don’t know why you _are_ this mad.”

Now he’s livid. He downs the rest of the bourbon then slams the glass onto the counter.

“You don’t know?”

“No, I don’t know!” She takes a frustrated breath. “You _know_ I’m married! You _said_ you didn’t care!”

“Maybe it’s ’cuz I’m not your fuckin toyboy, Elizabeth! To come and go as you fuckin please – that ain’t how this is workin.”

“Ok,” she blinks, absorbs. Seems to get it. “I’m sorry. But you can’t just avoid me.”

“Yea? Why not?”

“Because…” She wipes away a stray tear and fuck, he hadn’t even realised her eyes are full of em. “Because I can’t go without you. Don’t make me.”

It knocks him a whole step back.

“_What_?”

And the way he’s gone all mollified seems to bring out _her _fury.

She wipes her eyes with the back of her hands, all but slaps the tears off her face, then steps toward him, tiny body coiled up with anger.

“You can’t just do that! You can’t just act like we never happened!”

“Ain’t that what you do every day?” he shoots.

“What else am I supposed to do? My husband owns the dealership you move your pills through,” she points out, soundin hopeless. “This life is my disguise so I can do my job, but god, when I live it, I’m not alive. I’m a zombie, I can’t breathe. Not till we’re together.”

He stares back at her. He don’t think she woulda said even two percent of that if she’d been sober and truth is, he don’t know if he likes that or not. In vino fuckin veritas.

He rocks his jaw.

“That's some o' the saddest shit I ever heard.”

Her face twists with somethin rueful. 

“_My life_ was pretty sad – till a gangbanger jumped off my kitchen counter.”

It shakes him. Enough to know the answer to whether he wants to know all this; everythin she hides when they aren’t on nothin.

He reaches up, lifts his finger to her hair then gently pushes it away.

On its way down, his thumb brushes lightly over her lip before he lands a finger under her chin. Gripping it gently but firmly, he pulls it up. Makes her look at him.

“Dope backsplash.”

And then he kisses her.

Beth keens into it, lets him move her so she’s stuck between him and the counter as her hands go up to his neck to pull him closer.

No man has ever kissed her the way he kisses her. Like her lips are a temple he’s desperate to own, and god, it sucks her in so deep. She forgets everything – forgets the pit that had started in her stomach when he’d stopped taking her calls, the deep hopelessness she’d had tonight as he avoided her gaze, the hot shame she’d felt when she’d gone all the way to him and he’d still barely acknowledged her. 

He erases it, permanently, with his hips pressed to hers and a hand at her jaw as he dips her; licks open her lips. She parts them with a gasp of a whimper as she parts her legs too so he can get closer.

He does, a hand roaming her body, and she’s so stuck, she realises. Couldn’t move if she wanted to. Both his hands on her are firm and his hips are sturdy against hers, his body heavy and solid, immovable. Trapped, she’s trapped, and in more ways than one.

But she doesn’t mind doing it here – she can’t really think further than him being inside her as soon as humanly possible – so she moves her hands to his belt. She struggles for a moment as he refuses to stop kissing her so she can see what she’s doing, but then she gets the flap free of the loop and she’s about to move on, quicker, when he grabs her hands.

The grip is tight, bruising, and she cries out in surprise.

He rocks even closer, breath cool over her face; eyes dark.

“Next time, you make _him _fuckin go away.”

She looks at the hard line of his jaw; the pink slant of his perfect lips. Feels him hard against her. She can barely breathe.

“Ok.”

He glares, displeased. “You only sayin that ’cuz you want me.”

She’s too drunk for this. The politics of being caught between her marriage and what she wants is too much for her brain, already all filled up with the taste of him and bourbon.

So instead she presses up on her toes and draws her eyebrows together, pouty.

“Don’t you want me?”

“Of course I want you,” he hisses through his teeth, looking more enraged than ever. “Fuck, all I do is want you,” he murmurs in disbelief, almost to himself.

Beth stares back at him, heart beating so fast that her chest is aching and her mouth is dry.

Slowly – slowly – she begins to pry one wrist loose and after a second he lets her, releasing her right hand and watching her curiously.

She moves it down to rub him over his jeans and Rio curses under his breath, caught off guard. His grip on her other wrist tightens on reflex and she lets out a whimper of pain. He lets go instantly and Beth’s shocked – she has power over him.

She doesn’t know how or why, or exactly how to wield it. All she knows is that an hour ago he wouldn’t meet her eyes and now it’s like he’s physically incapable of looking at anything but her.

“Bedroom,” she says, her voice tiny yet authoritative.

She likes him there, likes him in her bed. Likes it smelling of him afterwards, his clean ocean scent stuck to the pillows and her clothes. Remnants of him more tangible than the ghost of his lips against hers; his stubble passing over her thighs.

He nods and starts walking backwards, undoing his belt as he goes, and Beth starts on her blouse buttons as she follows.

She closes the door behind her when they get into her bedroom and then all they have to do is shuck off the clothing, their underwear. She takes off her panties but not her bra and Rio steps forward to do it, skin brushing against hers.

The aching is between her legs now, throbbing, and she pushes closer before he’s even done so she can feel him against her stomach; press her lips to his. Just for a second. Then she mouths against it: _I need you_.

She’s too drunk to know if any words actually leave her tongue; if it’s loud enough for him to hear – she only knows it’s true and she can’t wait anymore.

She’s about to say it – aloud – when suddenly he’s pushing her with his hands and body so fast she nearly falls.

It knocks the breath out of her when her back hits the wall with a thump and then he’s lifting her legs and she moans as she wraps them around him and then he enters her. Her body quivers with it, her mouth falling open as her head lolls.

And that’s when she sees them.

They’re right opposite her dressing table, where Rio had once noted the picture of Dean. (_This your husband? What’s he do? Any good at it?_) Now they’re caught in the mirror’s reflection and it’s so much like the bathroom, she realises, but this time there’s no clothing to hide them.

She sees the tattoos on the backs of his arms. He has a nice ass, she thinks. A toned, muscular back.

Sees her legs bracketing his scant frame as he begins to rock.

She whimpers high, loud, and Rio curses into her neck before shaking his head vehemently.

“This ain’t gonna work.”

“What? Why?”

He doesn’t respond, just shakes his head and pulls out, setting her back down, and Beth blinks in bewilderment before he’s tugging her again, moving her. He presses her down onto the bed, settles himself, then pulls her closer so they’re both on their sides.

Rio gets her leg on top of him and then pushes in again, taking her breath away.

He kisses her with a pleased hum, like this is what he wanted.

“Need more than a minute wit’ you,” he explains when he pulls away.

“God, Rio,” she breathes, then whimpers as he starts laying kisses down her chest and kneading at her breast.

He rocks slowly at first then a little faster, till he’s found a rhythm that has her tossing her head back and moaning on long breaths.

Her fingers press into his scalp as he takes her nipple between his lips and sucks, tenderly at first then harsher, brushing his teeth over lightly.

It’s too much combined with the way he’s hitting her just right inside, filling her up, and she can feel the slow heat building hotter and hotter, faster and faster. It’s like her ears are filling up and closing with it.

“Oh,” she moans, “oh-hh.”

She clenches around him, hard, and he lets out an audible _Fuck _before pulling her back by her neck so he can kiss her till it hurts and they’re both groaning so loud that it drowns out the sounds of their bodies meeting, pace frantic.

Her orgasm hits her a second before his does – she feels him go rigid as she falls away, the snap inside her tearing through the grasp she has on reality. She whimpers against his lips as her body tightens up and shakes, him spilling into her.

He holds her for a few moments and she gasps as she comes down, eyes opening.

The silence feels sudden, stark. It’s just their breaths in the room, his cool and soft against the tip of her nose, bourbon-laced and beginning to even.

Then his eyes open too and he just stares at her for a few seconds, a few seconds too long.

God, every time they do this, they cross a line– no, they don’t cross it, they barrel over it; plough through it, decimate it. There is no more line – she’d made sure of that with her stupid confession – and she sees it in his eyes.

Then he shifts and Beth whimpers involuntarily, still sensitive. He licks his tongue over his lip for a second, considering, before darting forward. He kisses her through it as he pulls out and her body shudders. 

He breaks a dam – she doesn’t want to stop once he kisses her, presses a firm hand into his neck to keep him to her and plays with his tongue till he’s groaning.

“I gotta go,” he says breathily when he’s managed to pull himself away.

“Where?” she asks, but kisses him again before he can answer.

It’s so stupid, the way she can’t have him but can’t go without him. They’re meant to go together, she knows it – when they’re kissing, when they’re having sex, when they’re arguing. She feels it. Like the moment you put two matching puzzle pieces together.

He pulls away slightly, kisses at the side of her mouth then her lower lip, alternating with nibbling at it as his hand drops to run over her waist then squeeze at her ass.

She’s smiling when he pulls away with a belaboured breath.

“I _gotta_ go, momma,” he says softly, shaking his head as his eyes roam her form regretfully. “Work.”

Beth nods with a swallow then pulls at the sheet to cover herself. He looks at her one more time then gets up, starts dressing.

She turns to watch him, laying on her forearm as he gets on first his boxer briefs and jeans then his T-shirt. The hoodie and the jacket. So many layers. She never feels she can get through them and then he shucks them voluntarily and it’s so much worse. Because then he looks at her like that, kisses her like that. Touches her like that.

“Your parents never tell ya it’s rude to stare?”

He hadn’t been looking at her – she has no idea how he knows she’d been watching – but now he turns his dark eyes on her, look confrontational.

Her glance goes over his tattoo, the bird of prey belligerent even with the red blotches dotted over it. Her eyes flick up to where his lips are swollen, bright red instead of their usual dark pink, and she can’t help it, she giggles.

He takes two measured steps closer, unimpressed by this response.

“Sum’n funny?”

She moves up so she can sit up against the headboard.

“You’re just not as scary when I can see my mouth all over you.”

His lips curve into a smile but he catches it quickly, turning it into a smirk instead as he deliberately flicks his eyes over her.

“Baby, you should see yourself.”

She doesn’t need to look – he likes hickeys and she’s pale enough that even just a too-hard kiss leaves a mark. She only rolls her eyes in response as he chuckles and collects his shoes and socks, sits on the bed next to her.

Watching him put them on, Beth clears her throat. Attempts to smooth back her hair.

“You’re just gonna leave?”

She’d apologised, but he hadn’t said he forgives her and she doesn’t know where they stand now. Refuses to go through another week of him screening her calls.

“Whatchu want, a bedtime story?”

She sighs. “I mean… everything… earlier.”

He stutters to a stop for a second but then continues on without a word, doing up his laces, and she stares for a second longer before remembering what he’d said had upset him so much the other day.

“You’re not my toyboy,” she says evenly, hoping it sounds like another apology. “I know that.”

“Naw?” His head swings to face her. “So what am I?”

Her tongue feels limp, inept, and she shakes her head wordlessly.

But his stare is stony, relentless, and finally she clears her throat again.

“What do you _want_ to be?”

It catches him by surprise, she can tell, and for a few seconds he actually seems to think about it, jaw working.

Then he shakes his head, looks away, huffs out a short breath of contempt.

“Nah, you was right to make me leave. Whatchu got here ain’t got nothin to do wit’ me.”

It hits her in the middle of her chest like a battering ram, knocks the wind right out of her.

But she can tell by the set of his shoulders and his stiff jaw that he’s gone into defensive mode again. Her mind whirls as her lungs start working again but then he’s shifting, moving, about to get up, and her body remembers how to fix this.

“Rio.”

Her hand lands firm on his arm; wraps around it and says _wait_. 

“Please,” she breathes, just above a whisper. But then her voice steadies, grows stronger, and so does her resolve: “Either I’m married or I’m not, you can’t pick and choose how you want to treat me. Either this life is my disguise or it’s who I really am and that means you’re right, I _should’ve_ kicked you out, because I’m a married woman and you don’t belong in my bedroom or my bed or my body,” she spits. “You don’t get to be mad _and_ then pretend not to be. You’re not my toyboy? Well, I’m not your plaything, either.”

Her hand drops as his head turns slowly, intentionally, and his eyes blaze when they meet hers.

“That’s a lotta words. Whatchu tryna say?”

His tone is ice cold; warning.

She lifts her chin, unintimidated. She has power, she remembers. And she won’t let him act like she’d pulled him over the line, she won’t.

“Tell me the truth or get the fuck out of my house – and don’t ask me to invite you in again.”

And maybe it’s the alcohol or how what she’d admitted to earlier had been far scarier, but she’s not terrified. Maybe that had been left behind the line too.

There’s a complicated look in his eyes that she doesn’t know how to read and eventually he draws a long breath as he looks away.

“A’ight, fine,” he exhales eventually.

She watches, waits. Stares at his profile on tenterhooks.

“Maybe it does bother me.”

“It?” she frowns. Then, filing through their past conversations: “_Dean_?”

He rolls his shoulders; still doesn’t meet her eyes. “I’m whatchu got hidden in the dark and he gets to have ya everywhere else.”

Beth’s speechless for the longest moment until eventually she just starts spitting out incoherent sounds.

“God. He _doesn’t_– he doesn’t_ have me_,” she eventually manages to sputter. “We haven’t even kissed since… since you kissed me.”

It comes out almost by accident, strangled, and she hates how much she’s admitting to him tonight.

So she quiets her voice to say the rest; puts it at just above a whisper like she’s ashamed, and maybe she is.

“Nobody touches me but you.”

And she doesn’t want anyone else to. That’s the mess they’re in, the line they crossed, and now the bell can’t be unrung.

He looks at her again and she still can’t read him but somehow knows she needs to say more; fill the oppressive silence.

“He sleeps here and helps me put the kids to bed. That’s it.”

“That’s it?”

She nods. And the truth is sometimes he doesn’t even sleep here – tonight she’d lied and said he should stay at his mother's house so she could have a girls’ night. Not because she knew any of this would happen, but because she couldn’t stand looking at him for a second longer after the rift he’d caused between her and Rio.

He makes a sound, seems to chew it over as he nods.

Beth nibbles at the inside of her lip.

“...I saw some reviews for that new seafood place I was telling you about.”

“Yeah?” He raises a brow. “What they say?”

“That it’s amazing – worth the wait. Apparently it takes two months to get a table there.”

He snorts. “Good thing we went for the tacos.”

“Good thing,” she agrees softly, because now she officially has no idea what else to say.

Maybe she should've never brought up any of this, maybe she should've just let him go.

The quiet seems to whistle and it seems it’ll never stop, racking through her body, when finally he speaks.

“We started some shit neither of us knows how to finish.”

She shakes her head because he’s right but, god, he doesn’t always have to be.

“Maybe we don’t have to finish it.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means…" She shrugs. "Are you busy two months from now?”

His mouth turns up into a slow smile but once it’s there, he doesn’t erase it.

Instead he leans forward and kisses her softly on the lips. Then on her chin, on her neck, on the swell of her breast. He moves the sheet away and presses his lips to her nipple. A shiver runs through her body but when her eyes flutter back open, he’s at her bedroom door.

He’s looking back at her, eyes gleaming.

“I’ll see ya in a few hours.”

“You will?”

“Yeah. Wait up. And don’t put nothin else on ’sides that sheet.”

She smiles, she can’t help it.

“Then don't take too long. And bring a bottle of bourbon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you enjoyed it! Would love to hear what you think. And if you celebrate Christmas, I hope you have an absolutely fantastic day. (And if you celebrate Hanukkah, I hope you're having the most splendid week!)


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